


No Sweeter Innocence

by mikripetra



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Catholicism, Character Study, Gen, Hinduism, Introspection, M/M, Philosophy, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikripetra/pseuds/mikripetra
Summary: He’s heard horror stories about Christian churches. The homophobia. The sneering condescension. The slut-shaming, misogyny, and guilt.But there’s a rainbow flag snapping in the wind, dangling from the flagpole in front of the church. The notice board reads, "All are welcome here."It should be fine.Right?
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	No Sweeter Innocence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [to sing the beloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19498276) by [punkfaery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkfaery/pseuds/punkfaery). 
  * Inspired by [Compos Mentis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951708) by [PNGuin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PNGuin/pseuds/PNGuin). 

_In the madness and soil_

_Of that sad earthly scene_

_Only then I am human_

_Only then I am clean_

Alec has always had a complicated relationship with religion.

Shadowhunters don’t really pray. They exist outside of all the recognized religions, but are welcome in all of them. Sort of.

There’s a reason every major place of prayer in the world has a cache of _ adamas _ weapons hidden somewhere inside it. Even the buildings Shadowhunters live in have a deep connection with religion- nearly every Institute is a remodeled church.

Shadowhunters believe the angel Raziel created them to fight demons, yes, but it’s not like they pray to him. It’s different when you know for sure that angels and demons exist, and that neither of them are particularly kind. Religion loses the allure and comfort that it provides to mundanes.

In a place like New York, it’s hard to ignore it. There are statues of the Virgin Mary standing tall as she crushes a snake underfoot, right across the street from figures of Buddha, sitting in a lotus position with unseeing eyes and a mysterious smile. 

Every neighborhood has pockets of churches with large signs out front, most of them not written in English. Mosques and synagogues are slightly rarer, but they’re around. The towering, dome-shaped building in Yorkville, strangely reminiscent of a planetarium. The Jewish Center in Park Slope, with a Star of David in one window and a rainbow flag in the other. 

Alec never really felt the loss. But he’s starting to notice it, now.

The loud advertisements never catch his eye. It’s the elderly woman on the train, eyes closed and mouth moving silently, clutching a necklace of beads so hard they might break. It’s the gospel groups that show up in the winding maze of the 42nd street station, mostly around Christmastime, singing and laughing about God with pure ecstasy shining on their faces. It’s the thousands of people that cover a street corner with flowers and candles after a little girl gets hit by a car, leaving notes that all read different versions of the same thing: _ I’m praying for you. _Bearded men with faces framed in curls standing right outside the 86th street station, handing out flyers that proclaim a better future with God. Stickers in Hebrew and Arabic and Korean and Spanish plastered to lampposts, beaming out a message of salvation that Alec never learned how to read.

Magnus has never talked to Alec about the religion he grew up with, but Alec knows it hasn’t left him. 

In a corner of a closet in their apartment, there’s a carefully folded rug with brilliantly complicated designs. Next to it is a brass figurine: a man clothed in necklaces, holding a three-pronged weapon, sitting in a lotus position above a rug shaped like a cat. There are candles, too, and a piece of jewelry that Alec would have mistaken for a rosary if it weren’t for the thickly shaped beads and the tassle at the end. Alec got a tangy taste in his mouth when he got too close to them, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. They’re heavily protected by Magnus’s magic, he knows, and probably would have disintegrated years ago if it weren’t for Magnus’s spells keeping them looking like new. 

Why would he spend so much energy protecting things that are obviously connected to religion when he’s not at all? Is it so he can be connected to his mother’s culture? Hold on to one, tiny piece of the childhood that was blown to pieces?

Alec never knew Raphael Santiago well, but he knows from Magnus that Raphael would wear a crucifix around his neck so often that it permanently scarred the pale skin at the base of his throat. The vampire would walk on consecrated ground even as it charred the soles of his feet, because he couldn’t bear to be without religion for the rest of his immortal life.

Alec never understood the idea of being a martyr. Die for your principles, or for the people you love, sure. Alec would do that in a heartbeat. But there are thousands of people throughout history, venerated across the years, who died for their faith. They were stoned to death, tortured, eviscerated and strangled, all because they refused to renounce their religious beliefs. 

Does it really matter that much whether the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father or from both the Father and the Son? Why would people die for something like that?

Is it a pride thing? A loyalty to the identity of the place you came from, perhaps? The reason why those people suffered fates worse than death, all because of religion- it eludes him. It’s like trying to stand in a spinning room. You might get close to success, just for second, but you’d be thrown back to the ground before long. 

Alec remembers hearing Clary talk about a history teacher she once had in high school. The man told the class that he was going to prove to them that Santa Claus existed. The teacher said that Santa Claus makes people do things- he brings children happiness, he makes parents put out presents in the middle of the night, and he inspires a whole season of wonder and kindness. Santa Claus exists _ because _people believe in him. Because he has an effect on others, he’s real.

(It took some time for Alec to understand who Santa Claus was, but he got the message eventually.) 

That was the first story that spoke to him. Alec never felt particularly attached to Nephilim culture- it was all dusty manors in Alicante and collars that were too tight. He has no ancestral religion calling to him like Magnus does. But the idea of a supernatural force that guides people towards goodness, that spreads joy and makes people genuinely happy? Alec is scared by how much he wants to believe in that. 

That’s why he’s here. Standing in front of a church. Unarmed. 

Well, not completely unarmed. He’s not an idiot. He has his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, glamoured so no one can see them. But he’s let go of the dozen or so daggers and swords he keeps on his body every time he leaves the house. He has to get some credit for that. 

He’s heard horror stories about Christian churches. The homophobia. The sneering condescension. The slut-shaming, misogyny, and guilt. 

But there’s a rainbow flag snapping in the wind, dangling from the flagpole in front of the church. The notice board reads, _ All are welcome here. _

It should be fine.

Right?

Alec can’t see himself making this a regular thing. But he’d like to go inside a church, just once, without having to worry about a demon chasing after him. He needs to see what it’s like. He’ll never be able to live with himself, otherwise. 

Alec jogs up the steps before he can change his mind. 

He pulls open the heavy door to reveal a large foyer, the lights dimmed down, and a small man sitting at a desk in the corner. He’s reading a newspaper that almost entirely obscures his face. Alec wonders bemusedly how the man can see at all in this lighting.

Is Alec supposed to pay to go inside? Give some convoluted greeting to the man?

The man catches sight of him and gives a short wave before looking back down at his paper. Well that answers that question, Alec thinks.

Hesitantly, he steps forward and opens the second set of doors. 

He’s been in churches before, of course. But he never stopped to actually _ look _at them.

This church is gorgeous.

Alec has to crane his neck all the way up to see the ceiling. The walls are lined with stained glass windows, depicting scenes and people that Alec can’t name, glowing in a soft blue light.

There are at least two dozen rows of pews stretching toward the altar. There are two rooms carved out that go even further back, iron bars shielding them from view. A wooden spiral staircase winds up the side of one of the walls, ending at a canopied pulpit. 

Alec’s feet move forward of their own volition, making loud, echoing sounds on the floor.

It’s like an immortal, thousands of years old, had liberated a few pieces of art from every period he’d lived in and every place he’d gone. A concrete statue of an African merchant here, a mosaic of saints over there, a page torn from an illuminated manuscript in the front. All seemingly unrelated, but coming together to make the most hardhearted of men stop and listen. 

A statue of a man (a friar, Alec thinks) sits in the middle of a valley of candles. He’s pointing at the sky- _ And one more thing! _

Someone’s written on one of the candles with a sharpie. It’s in Chinese, so Alec has no earthly idea what it says, but he can _ feel _the pleading of the person who wrote the words. 

Another shows a prayer in looping cursive writing: _Ho perso qualcosa, non lo trovo più, ti prego Sant'Antonio pensaci tu._

Every single candle has a palpable air of holiness around it. The ritual has meaning only because the people believe it does. There’s something beautiful about that. 

It’s a building of wishes. Most of them will never be answered. Alec knows that, objectively, but it doesn’t make him feel sad. It makes him hope. If people can still have so much faith in a god they’re not even sure exists, anything is possible. 

If people can be struck down, time and time again, and still turn back to their faith, does that make them stupid? 

Alec doesn’t think so. 

It means that people trust in the idea that they don’t know everything. That things will turn out alright in the end. That the universe is fundamentally good.

For the first time in his life, Alec lets himself believe that. 

_ Votive candles $5, _ the sign reads. _ Purchase in the lobby. _

Alec’s not sure what “votive” means. As he gazed at the hundreds of candles clumped near the walls, he wonders faintly if the entire place is about to go up in flames.

Alec knows magic exists. He’s familiar with the warlock kind of magic- flying sparks, neat tricks, fireballs and portals. But there’s another kind of magic in this place.

Alec doesn’t think it has anything to do with the Shadow World.

It’s not perfect because people follow some archaic set of rules, or because everything is perfectly arranged. It’s perfect because people believe in it, just like Santa Claus. 

It’s perfect because it isn’t, just like people.

There’s love in the air.

Alec sits down in the pew farthest from the altar and lets himself feel it.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to say this: all the descriptions are based off real churches, especially the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer in Manhattan.
> 
> So...to say I have a lot of thoughts about religion is the understatement of the year.
> 
> I've been in Catholic school for the past seven years, and it's been pretty horrific. I wrote this piece about a year ago, when I still believed that my Catholic faith was worth saving. But right now, actually, I've become much, much happier by getting into spiritual thinking, meditation, and Wicca. 
> 
> Even though I don't see the magic in most Catholic churches anymore, I thought that I owed it to the version of me from a year ago to post this.
> 
> No matter where you are, if there's love, if there's belief, it's magic. And that will always mean something.
> 
> If you'd like to read another fanfic rambling about religion, I HIGHLY recommend the works that inspired this one.
> 
> Please comment! You’d make my day.
> 
> Buy me a coffee (or hot chocolate) on ko-fi if you like! https://ko-fi.com/mikripetra


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